


The Man Weaved From Silk

by Subvertta



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Post-FFVII, Pre-Advent Children, basically advent children is cancelled, lifestream spitting people out, more tags and characters as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-06 03:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16823911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subvertta/pseuds/Subvertta
Summary: Despite the calamity still a fresh scar in the memory of all denizens of Gaia, the people make do with what they can. You are among the many that try to rebuild their world, following a clockwork routine making the best of every little situation. Yet one day your routine finds itself broken upon the discovery of an unconscious man lying among rubble.





	The Man Weaved From Silk

**Author's Note:**

> here's the seph x reader i promised months ago peace hand emoji
> 
> also note the whole lifestream spitting people out like used chewing gum was thought of by haluwasa2 and as a sephiroth lover i couldn't pass up the opportunity the moment i saw it

_ There was serenity to the stream, carrying Sephiroth’s soul through a vast, featureless world. The very makings of life now had him back in it’s clutches, letting him freely drift among the gentle waves. The world right below him to view from up top  _ —  _ dare he call it an omniscient presence over it, free to watch life flourish a new from his own devastation. To watch how humanity slowly rebuilds anew from the ashes, to wonder over every hardship overcome. _

_ Yet it held no interest to him. He was gone from it once more, and wishing to return was futile. Sephiroth had overstayed his welcome, and that was that. This would be his new home for eternity to come till it too extinguishes. Or perhaps he would simply stop thinking, and so, existing. _

_ It was surprising to find himself in such peace, after all how could anyone — or anything consider his sins worthy of forgiveness. Could such an existence be even called mercy, an immortal life among the lifestream? If anything, bitterness had him believe it to be a punishment of sorts. Reflecting on all his mistakes and crimes committed onto it, stuck between staring off into vast nothingness beyond the stream or to the world below trying to cope with it all the calamity he helped cause. _

_ As if he cared about any of it. _

_ As if he felt guilt. _

_ What was done, was done, and no force could alter the past. There was only the future to look forward to, one he couldn’t partake in. _

_ He didn’t care. _

_ Not one bit. _

_ That was his new mantra among this stream taking unwanted pity on him. _

_ There was no more reason to keep holding onto consciousness anymore. There was no use struggling against the inevitable. With a bittersweet smile he stopped focusing at the unknown before him, closing his eyes and accepting his new eternity. The waves against his body turned more violent, tugging hard against his limbs. It raged like a sea storm, dragging him further downwards indefinitely, and Sephiroth took it like a rag doll, letting the stream take him wherever it so pleased without naught a worry or care in the world. _

__

_ Wherever it was, he wouldn’t know. _

_ The all consuming darkness taking over his thoughts came with ease. At the very least, this numbness overcoming him was granted this mercy, his body only registering a short surge of pain through every nerve as his body collided with a solid ground, robbing his last words with a gasp drowned by bones mangled and snapped from within. _

* * *

Scavenging for scraps in the wasteland was a tedious job. Scouring the grounds for even the least significant scrap that could  _ potentially  _ come in handy among endless piles.  _ A needle in a haystack,  _ taken far too literally, or so that is how it felt like. Yet despite all the work laid out before you it was still an uneventful job. Driving over in a barely functioning jeep to a wasteland of a city in pieces looking for anything useful, and the disappointment when all your findings turned out to be nothing more than useless junk was the usual (if not daily) routine you experienced. Trekking through the wreck was at times more dangerous than the odd bandits that decide to prey on any poor inexperienced civilians that wander in. The main danger came from the mountains of rubble scattered around, a mimicry of natural landscape where ruins of a once thriving city take place for soil and rock.

A tedious, boring job yet someone had to do it.

Parking that rundown car at the nearest accessible point, you expected nothing that would deviate out of the norm, not a bandit or accident to ruin your day just as yesterday.

And the day before.

And as far as you cared to remember.

Yet today proved you wrong, for the first time in months. Instead of scraps to repair or turn to something new, you found a human body, laying among the wasteland where the findings grew scarce.

There he was, a naked man sprawled out on the ground, neither awake or moving. There was not even a hint of breath, nothing to show he was alive. In fact, you would have assumed he was dead were it not for the light twitch of fingers when you prodded the body with the tip of your shoe. Thank Gaia there was still some life left in him — very little but something little was better than nothing at all. Relieved, you quickly crouched down to closely inspect him, searching for any signs of damage.

To your surprise not even a small scratch marred his pale skin. In fact, the only oddity was just how cold he felt when your fingers brushed against his forearm.  _ Hypothermia  _ , your initial thought as you pressed two fingers against his wrist to feel out his pulse; a faint, gentle rhythm against your fingertips. Your theory would prove solid to the man in question, walking around at godless hours without proper clothing, yet that begged a second question: how  _ did  _ he get cold in the late afternoon, when the sun was hottest in this barren wasteland.

The third question, or rather next few:  _ who is he, what is he doing here, why would anyone come here like this in the first place.  _ The easiest answer you could come up with was simply chalking it down to bandits ambusing an unsuspecting victim, though going as far as to also strip said victim entirely was unheard of, even in such an area as this. Then again, if it was the work of bandits there would be more physical damage than just a cold body. You threaded your fingers through his hair, searching for any signs of a single blow used to knock him unconscious without any other injury, be it blood or a bump.

There was no such trace to be found.

With pursed lips and head tilted, you studied the man before you. Long silvery hair, obscuring most features with bangs resting over his face whereas the rest resting spread across the ground covered in dirt and dust. You gingerly brushed the unruly hair away, curious as to what lay beneath. They were delicate despite the sharp features, most notably the cheekbones leading down to a slender face, with a slim jaw with a pronounced line and equally sharp chin. You found no wrinkles making themselves present on his face, all smooth without a crease. Quite the oddity for such a young face to be framed with silver hair —  _ so soft to the touch, that of silk sheets against your fingers  _ . The more effeminate look came from prominent lashes, and lips a soft pink shade rather than the deathly light blue against the pallid complexion one would associate with a cold body.

The rest of him was just as lean, yet still remained toned; a delicate outline of muscle over skin, with broad shoulders and slender waist. Your treacherous eyes wandered over the rest of the expanse wandering down low before quickly averting your gaze to his upper body. At the very least your curiosity was sated, confirming this wasn’t just hair bleached till it turned to an ethereal silver. That was in fact, just his natural colour. You forced those thoughts to deter back to  _ anything else  _ , and further prodded for any possible injuries. Physically he looked strong, no doubt about it. To think bandits would be a possibility, he would have had to been overwhelmed and taken by surprise — or a lousy fighter. By some miracle he made it out alive, and now you were going to ensure it stayed as such.

Your only problem was taking this mass of a man to your shelter.

Without a second thought, you began a valiant attempt at picking him up. You weren’t weak per say, but such a tall man bound with quite the show of muscle proved to be a challenge. Slinging an arm over your shoulder and keeping in place as the other found its way around his waist was a horrible idea; his legs dragged against the floor and gravity refused to work in your favour, pulling him down and you were dragged along. As gently as you could you laid him back down, wondering how you could possibly drag him without causing any external damage to him, and sparing yourself any awkwardness.

A worn out blanket from your car to pull him to it?

Drive said car over and haul him in, gracelessly into the back seats?

Back against back with arms entwined and pray the weight doesn’t ruin your spine?

With a decisive nod you settled for your second option. Before leaving for the car you shrugged off your jacket and gently lay it sideways over him, just enough to drape it over his torso and leave the sleeve reaching just below his knee. The least you could offer was to warm the man up while you rushed to your jeep left behind not far out. You quickly paced, hopping in and fumbling with the keys for a moment before starting the engine. You were careful not to accidentally end his life then and there with an unfortunate accident, maneuvering around slowly with the vehicle till you were no more than a couple of meters away.

Satisfied, you hopped back out and got straight back to work. After clearing out the back seat efficiently (a swipe or two and cluttering the floor instead), you stood over his head and began the second attempt to carry him. This time it wasn’t far, no severe harm would come his way  _ hopefully.  _ You wiggled your arms under his, fingers linked at the chest. How pathetic you must’ve looked attempting to overcome the difference in height, arching your back backwards only to still have his legs drag against the dirt.

You carefully paced backwards, careful not to trip over and cause more of a problem. With the telltale feeling of the car behind you, a vacant spot where the door was now swung open where instead the edge of the seat pressed against your back, you began to slowly wiggle yourself up onto the seat and dragging yourself along with him in tow. Getting a ragdoll to work with you turned out to be a much more frustrating task than expected. Between nearly tossing him sideways or entirely losing grip and letting him slide back out, it took much effort to finally have him lying down, and jacket replaced with a blanket from the trunk. You opened the door behind you and slipped out, checking for his head before slamming it shut. On the other side you struggled one last time with legs longer than the width of the car, wrestling them in to gently rest against the back of the seat so the weight won’t pull the rest of him to the floor.

With a huff you were back at the driver’s seat, no reusable scraps at hand but a whole man passed out in your back seat.

* * *

Blue eyes fluttered open, greeted with a chipped white ceiling up above, and a soft blanket over his body. He squinted, peering around the room inspecting the unfamiliar territory. There was still faint light, an orange hue painting the room through the windows.  _ Afternoon,  _ he thought glancing over to the windows, before returning to the room.  _ ‘Where was he?’  _ the question remained at the forefront of his mind as he sat up. His memory felt hazy, not quite remembering where he passed out, or why he was suddenly transported somewhere else. His brows furrowed the more he thought, more questions piling up with not an answer in sight. Soon, he had a worse question he couldn’t quite find the answer to.

_ Who am I? _

A trivial question with a natural answer, yet when his lips part with a sharp inhale, confident and ready to answer; he was stuck, mouth agape as he couldn’t find the words. His eyes drop to the ground, brows furrowing as he searched of an answer.  _ Who  _ **_was_ ** _ I?  _ There was no name, no age, no… Anything. The very fundamentals to every person and yet it was nothing but a blur. He felt the thoughts just there, taunting him at the top of his head just enough for him to reach with the brush of a finger, but matter how he struggled it would never be in his grasp.

He couldn’t even remember what he looked like.

His eyes turned to his hands instead, searching for even the smallest hint. Pale slender fingers untouched and unscarred, entirely smooth to the touch. He ran his fingers through his hair, meeting long locks, bringing bangs swept back to the front of his face inspecting the colour.

Silver.

Next he gently traced the features of his face. He met nothing extraordinary, nothing that would tell him anything about his past, at least nothing that could help snap his memory back. He traced down over his skin searching for any lost hints till the tips if his fingers brushed over the bottom of his abdomen and it dawned on him.

He was in a foreign home.

No memory of himself.

Under a blanket.

_ Naked. _

Rather than horror, bewilderment settled in. Wo uld that mean he was home? Other than himself there was not a single hint of life in the little home. Still fists clung to the edge of the blanket, keeping it pinned tightly around his waist as he got up.

He paced around mindlessly, looking around the tiny living room. There was not much to investigate to begin with. There was no clutter so to speak of, what he would normally deem as tidy yet the lack of various knick knacks here and there left the old, worn down furniture feeling tired. One sofa and one couch, both of faded fabric he could barely make out the original colour of, leaving only a hint of blue amidst the pattern. The pillows seemed in slightly better condition, fluffed and maintaining any old colourful patterns among a floral design. The table was laughably mismatched with itself, the top and three legs a mahogany, and the fourth a light brown instead. Only a single cup and book lay on it, as well as a plant pot, minus the plant. Before the seats and table were three rows of drawers and a radio on top, seated besides a second plant-less pot.

On the opposite side of the room was a table made of metal legs and a wooden top with two fold up chairs opposite each other barren of anything, with a cabinet close by. Through the glass door he made out a small pile of plates, no more than three with one less glass to the other side. The other shelves were littered with junk, various scraps of this and that, left entirely unorganised. Beside it a gap for a door left slightly ajar, then a short row of countertops, a small fridge, and oven. And to the other side, a shut door, most likely the entrance.

There was clearly effort put in to make it look homely despite the rundown state, and he either had himself to thank if this was truly his home, or whoever owned it. It if were truly his own, he would have to do something about the junk stuffed haphazardly into the cabinet, or at the very least remember why he would have shoved it away so carelessly. He walked over, opening the glass door and the packed junk quickly scattered out like a wave against the extruding lower drawers.

Before he could dig into the pile anymore, the entrance door gently clicked open and shut behind, leaving him frozen in his spot. He clenched his jaw and turned around, unsure what he would meet. To see someone of significantly smaller stature, with a mess of fabric under one arm as the other hand fiddled with the keyring was just as much of a surprise as all other possibilities his imagination conjured.

“Oh, you’re awake?” your voice snapped him out of the confused daze. You seemed just as shocked as he was, mirroring his wide eyes and raised brows.

He stared, not quite sure where to place himself.  _ Did he know you? _

“Who are you.” A harsh demand as he turned to face you, keeping the blanket firmly wrapped around his waist.

He had to wait for a reply, watching your brow quirk up bemused with his tone. You blinked, once, twice, and finally offered a reply. “Your saviour, I suppose.” You took a couple more steps forward and tossed a lump of fabric beside on the dining table, “Though I should be asking you the same question.”

A sense of pride kept him from dropping his gaze. “I don't know.” he stated, matter-of-factly.

You frowned, letting a soft huh escape you as you eyed him over. “You don't know?”

He nodded.

“Do you remember your name at least?”

He shook his head.

He frowned as you groaned, not quite the proper response he was expecting to his predicament.

“Great, don't tell me someone whacked you hard enough you forgot your whole self.”

“If I knew the answer I'd gladly share it.”

“Snark me later, I got you some clothes in town.” he followed your index finger pointing at the previously tossed mass of fabrics, “The bathroom's over there,” You then gestured towards the half closed door, “If they’re too small sorry, but I tried getting the biggest I could find.”

His eyes took turns glancing between the clothes you had offered and yourself, still unsure where to place himself. Who would he be not to accept, in a strange home with no clothes of his own. There was no reason to distrust, especially when you went out of your way to bring in something new specifically for him wasn't an indicator enough.

“Right.” he said, reaching down and attempting to carry the whole lot in one hand while the other kept the blanket secure in its place. He rushed into the little bathroom, careful not to trip over and kicked the door shut behind him. The slam came out louder than he anticipated, with you yelling from the other side to watch it, before the undeniable sound of metal being shoved back into a heap followed. In honesty it was a simple underestimation of his own strength he now had to keep in check.

“My apologies.” he shouted back, earning a muffled grunt behind the door.

He wasted no time getting dressed, dropping the blanket from the floor and identifying the trousers and dropping the second clump — the shirt, he assumed.

_ The biggest they have,  _ he thought back to your words as he fit in a bit too well, the fabric pooling at his ankles even when he had tied the strings of the loose tracksuit pants. Annoying, but he wouldn't bother complaining. The shirt was just as a ridiculously big fit on him, laughably so. It dangled off his frame, reaching all the way to his mid thigh. If anything, this would pass off as a dress rather than shirt.

He fumbled with the trousers legs, rolling them up to his ankles. At the very least now he won’t trip over himself in a grand show of embarrassment. He opened the door to find you slumped down on the couch, resting sideways with your chin on your palm, one leg draped over the other.

“Too big?” You asked, inspecting the disastrous sight before you.

“Just a bit.”he replied, taking his spot on one side of the couch, laying the blanket on the other.

You hummed, a faint groan present at the end.

“Don’t remember a thing about yourself? Or why you were lying naked in the middle of nowhere?”

He let out an exasperated sigh, “Asking me repeatedly isn’t going to jog my memory.”

“There’s always a chance.”

“Sitting around hoping for some miracle is not going to solve this.” slowly with each passing word his voice grew more cold, enveloped in a bitterness.

You agreed mindlessly, exchanging a worried glance to his unreadable cold visage. Your leg bounced as your eyes trailed meaninglessly across the room, lost to a deep thought. He wasn’t quite sure how to fill the silence steadily growing heavier with every passing second. Anxious thoughts both born from reasonable thoughts as well as those of exaggerated nature plagued his mind, the latter overwhelming with the loudest voice at the very forefront. To lose his whole memory, years upon years wiped out in what he could only assume to be a heartbeat rendered him, in every meaning of the word, a nobody. 

With no identity he hesitated to even call himself human. Perhaps a mimicry of one,understanding the basic fundamentals of life, but lacking all the experience from memories bearing joy, sorrow, and anger. Every past experience that once helped him grow now rendered him helpless in a world he called home yet could recall nothing of. 

No, perhaps inhuman was too harsh. 

Robotic, without a will of his own. 

“It’s a bit too late to go running around today,” your grumble brought a halt to his train of thoughts, his head snapping back to your form, “We gotta ask around tomorrow.” 

“What? Run around this city with me in tow asking ‘Have you seen this man’?” 

“More or less, yeah.” you shrugged. 

“That plan has barely any thought behind it.” 

“Alright then, let’s hear  _ your  _ genius plan.” 

He opened his mouth, naturally ready to formulate some sort of plan strung together from quick thought but found his words empty. He frowned, mostly at his own supposed inability to come up with something,  _ anything.  _ Whether a past habit he forgot, he found the lack of ideas a horrible annoyance. 

“Thought so.” your smug smirk was met with a squint, “So we’ll try that till either of us get any bright ideas.” You straightened up in the seat, legs spread and palms pressed against each knee as you focused entirely on him. “But now where will you stay for the night…” 

His home would be the ideal answer, if he knew where it was. 

“No offence but sleeping with a stranger in the next room doesn’t feel like the safest of options.” 

“None taken, the feeling is mutual.” 

“Touche.” you mused, finally getting back up to strut around the room, pacing back and forth with leisurely steps. 

Crystalline blue hues followed your path, just as lost looking for any sort of solution. 

“Gaia, I’d feel horrible if I kicked you out and something bad happened,” you stopped in your tracks, a defeated sigh leaving you before you addressed the man, “You could just… crash on the sofa. Just don’t try anything or you’ll have a memory you’ll wish to forget.” 

“Likewise…” he replied, not quite sure how else to react to this rather violent display of hospitality. But it beats walking unknown streets wondering which house among the many is his own. 

The agreement of a mutual threat seemed to have been the best of options with you nodding approvingly in return. “Well you got a pillow and blanket ready, you can fall asleep whenever. But I will wake you up for dinner, alright?” 

He simply nodded in response. 

Before turning on your heel you gave him one last question, “By the way, what would you like to eat. Today’s menu is plentiful, featuring pasta spiced with salt, rice spiced with salt, plain pasta, and plain rice. For the brave of heart I recommend the chef’s special: salt on a plate, with the smallest dash of salt as the topping.” 

“A very tough choice indeed,” he crossed his arms, pretending to be lost in deep thought, “Rice, flavoured with a dash of salt.” 

You grinned. “Wise choice. Now rest up for tomorrow and I’ll prod you awake when it’s done.” 

He watched as you dashed off to the little kitchen, wasting no more time in preparing tonight’s bountiful feast. While he did get more than enough sleep, passed out for what he was sure was at the very least half a day, there was still a weakness to his body. An odd feeling, one that brought a certain wrongness he did not like. Lack of food was definitely not helping, adding an extra layer of weariness to him. For now he would just slump back down against the couch, not bothering to pull the blanket over himself and simply turning it into an additional pillow as his face nuzzled against it seaking for comfort. 

With hope, dreams would trigger back memories, both insignificant and dear to him. 


End file.
